


obedience is easy when to disobey is hard

by sandpapersnowman



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Begging, Collars, Come Swallowing, Dirty Talk, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Games, Obedience, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Partial Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 11:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3380591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandpapersnowman/pseuds/sandpapersnowman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm gonna let you in on a secret," Jack says, voice low and sweet. "But only if you promise not to tell."</p><p>Jack finally lets go of his face in favor of grabbing him by the throat. It isn't cutting off his air by any means, but it's still making him nervous.</p><p>"You'll be spending the rest of the day with me." Jack's hand slides higher, under his jaw, and forces his head further back. "You are <i>just</i> what I've been looking for."</p>
            </blockquote>





	obedience is easy when to disobey is hard

**Author's Note:**

> AT LAST IT IS KIND OF DONE! the second, very late secret santa gift for [tally](http://www.kohomint.tumblr.com/), who wanted mind control collar stuff ayyy
> 
> ~[here it is on tumblr ooh](http://illegalcockbiting.tumblr.com/post/111299036442/)~

Rhys is standing in Handsome Jack's office, in _front_ of Handsome Jack, and his heart is pounding.

"Good afternoon, Rhys," Jack purrs, leant back in his fancy office chair, and Rhys swoons internally.

"Good afternoon, sir," Rhys replies, sounding surprisingly level-headed. He waits for Jack to tell him what's going on, but he just keeps grinning. Rhys clears his throat. "So, uh, what can I do for you, sir?"

Jack stands and slowly makes his way around the desk toward Rhys. His smile doesn't waver.

He sits on the desk in front of Rhys, which puts them about at eye-level.

"I'm gonna let you in on a secret," Jack says, voice low and sweet. "But _only_ if you promise not to tell."

Rhys isn't sure what Jack wants to hear from him, and he’s honestly a little distracted, so he nods.

"Of course."

Jack's hand comes up and pats him on the cheek, almost hard enough to qualify as a slap.

"Addaboy," Jack barks, more enthusiastic than Rhys has ever seen him in person. He stands again, now towering before him, and plants both hands on either side of Rhys's face.

A finger strays to the port in his temple, and Rhys freezes up when Jack's fingertip runs along the edge where skin attaches to metal.

"Just the standard neuroport, correct?" Jack asks, still touching it gently and now leaning a bit closer to look at it better.

"Yeah," he answers. He doesn't want to risk eye contact when Jack is so close to him, so he's staring down at Jack's collar. There's a bite mark there, just barely peeking out from under his shirt, and Rhys turns a little redder.

Jack finally lets go of his face in favor of grabbing him by the throat. It isn't cutting off his air by any means, but it's still making him nervous.

"You'll be spending the rest of the day with me." Jack's hand slides higher, under his jaw, and forces his head further back. "You are _just_ what I've been looking for."

Jack lets go of his throat.

"I still don't know what I'm here for, sir," Rhys squeaks, trying to sound casual and failing.

“Like I said, I’m letting you in on a little secret.”

Jack doesn't say any more until he's done rummaging through a drawer in his desk.

" _This_ ," Jack sings, "is why you're here."

His hand emerges from the desk with something black and metallic.

It's...

It looks like a collar.

"Now, this probably won't hurt at all, and it should fit you just fine."

Rhys backs up a bit when Jack comes toward him with it.

"Uh, what's going on, s-sir?" Rhys sputters. The collar has an attachment that looks like it plugs into his port. That is not comforting at all.

Jack sighs. "I'm going to put this around your neck and plug it in, and then you're going to give me feedback on how it feels."

Rhys swallows. Jack is closing in, and while he'd do anything to please his boss, he's not totally sure about this.

"What does it do?" he asks, voice little more than a nervous squeak.

Jack scoffs and grabs Rhys by the hair.

"Just stay still, okay?"

He yanks Rhys's head back so his throat is more exposed. "Like I said, this probably won't hurt," Jack reassures him before pressing the collar to his skin.

It snakes itself around his neck, tight but not too uncomfortable, and once it's locked itself around his throat, Jack lets go of his hair and lets Rhys stumble away from him.

Rhys's fingers scrabble at the edges of it, trying to pull it off, but it stays firmly in place.

Jack rolls his eyes.

"Plug it in."

Rhys finds the short cord on the side of it and holds it in his shaky fingers.

"Plug it in, or you keep it on for the rest of your life, because I'm not taking it off for you until we test it."

Rhys warily weighs his options. He doesn't have any, really, so he guesses he's doing this.

Jack sighs again, more exasperated than annoyed, and steps closer. He holds his hands out toward Rhys like he’s going to cup his face, but doesn’t quite touch him.

"You want me to do it, kiddo?"

Rhys turns a little red. He sounds so sincere all of a sudden. Comforting, even.

He hesitates, but nods.

Jack gently takes the cord from him, slowly brings the end up to his temple, then not-so-gently shoves it into his port.

And…

...Nothing. He doesn't feel any different, besides the faint soreness at his port.

"How do you feel?"

"I… I feel fine," Rhys says quietly, worried that's not the answer Jack was looking for.

"Good, good." Jack watches him for a moment. "Sit down."

Rhys sits down on the desk.

"No, in my chair," Jack clarifies.

Rhys stands again, and sits in Jack's chair without a second thought.

He freezes.

 _Nobody_ sits in Jack’s chair. Jack killed the last person who even got near it during a meeting.

"Is... Sir, is this--?" Rhys asks, hands coming up to fiddle with the collar again.

Jack shrugs.

"Probably.” He grabs Rhys’s wrist. “Stop messing with it."

He stops.

"Now, tell me the truth," Jack purrs, kneeling in front of Rhys. "Is it too obvious? Can you tell it’s working?"

Rhys thinks for as moment, a little distracted by Handsome Jack being on the floor, practically between his knees.

"Not really," Rhys finally answers. "If I fought it, maybe, but right now it's just... Pretty natural."

Jack nods thoughtfully as his hands rub up Rhys's thighs.

"And what are you thinking now?" Jack asks, hands sliding higher, almost at his hips.

"That that feels good," Rhys blurts out as he turns red.

"Mhmm," Jack hums, and his hands move toward Rhys's belt. "And what else?"

"That I want to stop talking," Rhys admits. His breath catches when he can feel Jack's hand brush his dick through his pants, and once his belt is undone, Jack’s palm flattens itself over his zipper and _presses_.

“You gonna stay still for me?”

Rhys nods.

“Out loud, kiddo, you gonna stay still?”

Rhys nods again, more fervently, but this time accompanies it with a hum that means ‘yes’. He’s sure nothing that’d come out of his mouth would come with any dignity, so he keeps it shut.

Jack doesn't ask him anything else, thank God, so he sits there frozen while Jack pulls his pants and underwear down enough for his dick to pop out. He's not too hard, only swollen a little and mostly still soft, but Jack seems pleased anyway.

He props it up a bit and Rhys sucks in a sharp breath when he touches it, but instead of doing anything, Jack smiles and looks back up at him.

"Touch yourself," he says.

Rhys does without a moment of hesitation, even though his hands are shaky and he’s entirely uncomfortable, he still takes his dick from Jack’s hand and does as he says.

" _Ah_ ," Jack scolds, " _slower_."

Rhys feels even warmer (it’s either the collar or embarrassment at his own over-eagerness, or more likely, both) and he nods again, barely stroking.

He glances down at Jack, who's watching his hand move and his chest shudder with a smirk, and laughs nervously.

"Do you, uh… Have to watch?" He swallows. “Is it part of the test?” he jokes.

Jack raises an eyebrow, and maintains eye contact. Maybe it’s even, like, advanced eye contact, because Rhys feels more uncomfortable than before he asked.

"You don't want me to?"

Rhys laughs nervously again.

"It's embarrassing."

Jack shrugs.

"Well, you want me to now, so, too bad, I guess."

Rhys wants to argue that he doesn't, but suddenly he does. Now, knowing Jack is paying attention to every change in his expression and twitch on his open mouth, he really does want Jack to keep watching. It’s got to be the collar, because his blood is boiling at the idea of it and the idea of struggling to keep his eyes open when he cums, to keep the eye contact that’s making his skin crawl in more than one way.

His hips jerk up from the flood of new feelings.

"Don't you?" Jack asks, threatening, wanting conscious confirmation of the shift in his attitude.

Rhys just nods, teeth dug into his bottom lip. He's afraid he might get a little noisy if he doesn't, and with Jack's reputation, God knows how many employees have gathered outside his door to listen for any signs of him being killed.

"You can make noise," Jack purrs, sliding Rhys's pants down until they're in a pile at his feet, then does the same with his underwear.

Rhys nods again, but still stays quiet.

Jack starts mouthing up Rhys's thighs, and Rhys finally lets out a small groan.

"I meant that I'll crush your windpipe if you don't, pumpkin."

Rhys's head falls back against the chair as Jack bites, and he lets out an honest, overwhelmed noise when one of Jack's hands pushes his away and gently grabs his cock.

Jack snaps at Rhys to keep his hands on the chair when one twitches toward Jack's shoulder, and he instead grips the arms of the chair hard enough to dent one and turn his knuckles white over the other.

Jack's fingers are slow and firm around him, working with no rush at all, and between that and Jack's mouth hovering near it, as though he’s still unsure if he's going to taste it or not, his small, shy noises have become open-mouthed gasps and bitten-down-on whimpers. Jack breathes out too hard and warm breath ghosts over his skin. It makes Rhys shiver.

"You want me to suck you off, kitten?" Jack is purposely talking close enough to his boner that Rhys swears he can feel his lips brush against the head.

He nods desperately.

"No, you don't."

Rhys nods more, almost frantic.

"I do, sir, I really want it."

Jack laughs.

" _No_ , you _don't_." He licks his lips. "That's an order," he adds.

Rhys gets about half a second of confusion in before he feels sick. Mentally, he knows he's been dreaming about fooling around with Jack since he became CEO and possibly the most powerful person in the universe, but physically, he wants to squirm away from everywhere Jack is making contact with him.

And now, now that he feels sick from Jack touching him and just wants to move away, _now_ Jack finally, cruelly starts sucking him off. His tongue feels like fire against the head and his lips may as well be sandpaper for all Rhys wants it, but it’s somehow still relief from everything up to now in the same way it’s a new pain.

Jack keeps one hand on his dick to keep it steady for himself, but the other goes back to feeling him up. His fingers crawl under his shirt and across his stomach, and Rhys winces under every fingertip. When Jack squeezes his waist, it feels like he’s going to crush him, and Rhys whimpers and squirms.

Jack pulls away to look up at him with an annoyed glare.

“Stay still,” Jack mutters.

When Rhys freezes, Jack goes back to work.

Rhys has no idea how long Jack is kneeling there, lips leisurely sliding over his cock, taking his time playing with him and watching him squirm with discomfort, while he sits there with his eyes shut tightly. The feeling is bordering on excruciating, and it still only gets worse the closer he gets to cumming. He manages to stay mostly still, pretty much paralyzed from the collar; his chest heaves with every breath, overwhelmed and feeling trapped in Jack’s chair, nearly desperate to cum just so it’ll be over with and Jack won’t be touching him anymore.

When his noises begin leaning toward pleasure, the discomfort being overridden by the physical stimulation, Jack stops, leaving him there with a slowly-freezing dick and an uncomfortable boner.

He stands and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Open your mouth.”

Rhys, awkwardly and still getting waves of nausea every time his dick pulses, does. Jack grins at him while he undoes his own belt, and Rhys has slumped down in Jack’s chair enough that he’s eye-level with Jack’s zipper as it’s pulled down.

“You’re not trying to scare away a predator, sweetheart. Tongue out.”

Rhys sticks his tongue out. He imagines he looks like the perfect image of… Well, something. Thirsty, for one thing, in the newer sense of the term. He supposes that’s probably what Jack wants him to look like.

Jack’s got his cock out of his pants now, slowly stroking it in front of him.

“Drop your eyelids a little, make sure you look all pouty,” Jack complains, still bossy as ever even as he’s whining, apparently unsatisfied with Rhys’s current level of ‘looking like a porn star’. Jack grabs him gently by the hair, and carefully has him tilt his head back. “Don’t you want it, kitten?”

Rhys follows his orders as they come, and despite how ridiculous he feels, he knows what look he’s giving Jack, and the more Jack has him play it up, the more Jack seems to like it.

Rhys nods.

Jack laughs.

“No no no,” Jack scolds, pushing Rhys’s hair back for a moment while he figures out exactly what he wants out of him. “You still don’t want me to touch you, sweetheart, but God do you want to suck me off.”

Rhys nods again. He tries to lean in to get it in his mouth, just a little bit to soothe his sudden need for it, but Jack’s fingers tighten and yanks his head back before he can.

“Man, it’s just _killing_ you, isn’t it?”

Jack keeps touching himself, more deliberately and even closer to Rhys’s lips. His skin is crawling from Jack touching him, and from Jack teasing him, and from how much he really, really wants the swollen cock in front of him in his mouth, weighing down his tongue.

“I want you getting off on this, understand?” His fingers tug on Rhys’s hair again just to push him around some more. “You _are_ getting off on this,” he corrects himself. “You’d do anything just to taste it.”

Rhys strains against Jack’s hand. There’s precum beading at the tip and Rhys has to briefly close his mouth to swallow the drool that pools up at the sight of it.

Jack yanks on his hair again.

“ _Wouldn’t_ you?” he asks again, looking for Rhys to embarrass himself further.

The hand in his hair is too tight for him to nod.

“Yeah,” he confirms, breathy and desperate.

“You gonna cum just from sucking me off, pumpkin?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Rhys groans. He tries to stick his tongue out further, just one little taste will be all he needs, he knows it, and it hurts so bad not being able to get to it.

“Go on, why don’t you put your mouth on it?”

Rhys tries, he tries so hard, but Jack keeps his fingers firm in his hair and won’t let him move.

“What’s wrong? I thought you wanted me to let you suck me off?” He’s grinning even as he pulls Rhys’s head back further away from him.

“Please,” he begs, almost brokenly. Not being able to obey him hurts more than anything else he’s subjected him to so far, discomfort setting into his spine and crawling into all of his bones as a deep ache in the marrow, electric and hollow.

“If you want it so badly, why don’t you take it?” Jack teases again, canting his hips forward enough that Rhys almost, _almost_ licks him.

“It hurts,” Rhys whimpers. He’s squirming in his seat from everything coursing through him; the discomfort from not being able to obey, the painful want to feel the weight of Jack’s cock in his mouth, down his throat, the itching, crawling feeling wherever Jack touches, all of it. “Please, sir, I need it, I’m sorry.” His eyes are actually tearing up, though at this point, he can only guess whether it’s more embarrassment or need.

“You gonna swallow it all up when I cum?”

Rhys nods.

“And even though it’s gonna taste so good and you’re gonna love it so much, you’re still not gonna cum until I say you can, right?”

Rhys nods again and lets out another pathetic, wet ‘ _please_ ’.

Jack is getting less restrained as he goes; even though he’s trying to come off as calm and nonchalant, he has to keep twisting his fingers in Rhys’s hair to not let go and let him, and his hips twitch forward as he strokes himself. He wants to fuck Rhys’s mouth--cum down his throat and let him choke on it and still swallow it all, but he doesn’t want to let Rhys get off on it as much as he’s going to, not yet.

He just sits there, mouth open like a pretty slut, an enthusiastic whore, and even with his tongue out trying its hardest to get close enough to feel the heat of it, he still looks so, so good.

Rhys is even practically moaning when he breathes out, worked up more than ever, convinced Jack is going to give him what he needs at any moment.

"It hurts," Rhys finally tells him again, when Jack’s been at it long enough that the ache’s really set in and feels like it’s crushing him from the inside out.

“Oh, God, you need it so bad, don’t you, princess?” Jack asks, breathy; he pushes Rhys’s head harder back against the chair and makes sure it stays there while his hand moves in shorter, faster tugs, his dick looming dangerously close to Rhys’s mouth.

“Please, _please_ ,” Rhys whines again. “Sir--”

“Fuck, kid, you either shut up or you...” Jack swallows. “Shit, just--”

He’s practically crumpled over Rhys at this point, and when Rhys finally, finally feels the tip of Jack’s cock brush his lip, something shoots through his entire body that twists his guts and makes him feel like there’s fire under his skin boiling the blood in his veins. Even as his toes curl and his grip on the chair tightens, he still strains against Jack’s hand harder than ever to keep the feeling from stopping and pitching into pain again, dull and gripping and only eased by doing what he’s told.

“That’s right, kitten, keep your mouth open for me, oh, _fuck_ \--”

Jack sucks in a sharp breath, and the noise he makes sounds so over-the-top satisfied, so helpless to his needs, that Rhys would make fun of it if it wouldn't probably get him killed.

Rhys doesn’t dare close his mouth until Jack’s done; he’d said to swallow everything, and Rhys doesn’t think about what Jack or the collar will do to him if he doesn’t, he just knows it’s in his best interest to force down all of it. Even if it weren’t, it’s soothing some of the ache in him, and he’d do anything not to feel that again.

Jack stays over him for a few more moments even after the last thick drops have hit Rhys’s tongue. His mouth hangs open and his eyes are shut--no longer half-lidded and barely staying open, fluttering, to watch Rhys’s face and his own cock hovering over it--and the hand in Rhys’s hair is tighter than ever (it hurts, boy, does it hurt, but it’s nothing compared to what the collar’s been doing to him).

Jack finally falls back, barely managing to catch himself by sitting on the edge of his desk, and he laughs and flexes the fingers that have been fisted in Rhys’s hair. Rhys sits up, straightening himself out a bit in Jack’s chair.

Jack’s dick is starting to soften, hanging out of his fly between his legs, but the collar is still urging him to get the few drops of cum he couldn’t reach, fat and round, clinging to the head... He could just lean forward and clean it off for him, just a couple quick licks; it’d be to see if the collar still gave him the good feelings even though it’s a bit past the parameters of Jack’s orders--y’know, for science.

He hardly starts leaning in before he’s halted by Jack’s boot, hard against his chest, heavy sole knocking the breath out of him when his back hits the chair again.

“Down, girl,” Jack pants. He pushes his boot against Rhys’s chest harder, actually pushing himself a little further back on the desk when his heel can’t dig any further into Rhys’s sternum. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Rhys is still too worked up to respond in any way that isn’t sticking his tongue out again, pinned to the back of the chair and looking pathetic as he pouts.

“I asked you a question, pumpkin.” Thankfully, he keeps talking. “You still need to suck me off, huh?”

Rhys nods.

“Too bad you didn’t just do it when you had the chance, huh?”

Rhys swallows. His mouth is dry; he thinks he knows where Jack is going with this, but he hopes to God he’s wrong.

“I guess you’ll just have to wait a little longer, kiddo."

 


End file.
